Free Hunger Journeys by Maggie De Vries Page B

pedalled a little faster.

    Curfew was approaching by the time they reached the Hembrug once again and faced a new set of German soldiers. The man who stepped forward smiled warmly and took their papers politely, or so it seemed. But then he passed the papers to one of his companions and strolled behind the two girls and their bicycles. Lena turned her head, struggling to hold her position. Casually, he flipped up a canvas flap and pulled out a parcel wrapped in cloth.
    “What have we here?” he asked.
    Did he want an answer?
    Before Lena could decide, words spilled out of Margriet’s mouth in stilted German. “Our mother is sick. This is for her, to help her—”
    A raised hand silenced her. “Bicycles were to be turned in, and trips out of the city”—he paused—“for any purpose are forbidden.” He paused again, meeting the other men’s eyes with a slow grin. “Even sick mothers.”
    “But, Officer—” Lena started.
    Again the raised hand. “You will leave this bicycle with us, its various parcels too.” He put his hands on the handlebars, right up against Lena’s, and she snatched her fingers free. “You may go,” he said. “And you may take the other bicycle. Just besure you turn it in once you’re home. We have made a note of it.” At that, the man who held the girls’ papers jotted something in a notebook and handed the papers back.
    Teeth gritted, tears barely in check, Lena mounted Mar-griet’s bicycle behind her sister, and they coasted down the remaining stretch of bridge with her on the seat and Margriet standing on the pedals. She reminded herself that they still had the food Margriet carried and they still had one bicycle, but the tears seeped out from under her lids just the same.
    Father was angry when they arrived home on one bicycle, and Mother was silent. Bep danced around in the kitchen calling out the items one by one as Mother unpacked the panniers. But Father soon sent her out of the room, and Lena settled down to peeling once again: at least she was peeling potatoes this time, and there would be meat for supper.
    At the dinner table, Father insisted on an extra portion for himself from the meal made with the food they had brought. He was the biggest and a man. “I need my strength,” he said. And Mother thinned her lips and slopped an extra spoonful into his bowl.
    Father had not even asked about their journey.
    Still, they all went to bed that night with full bellies and the comfort of enough leftovers for another good meal, along with knowledge of the small sack of potatoes and carrots in the root cellar and the bag of good flour and jar of fresh butter that would last at least for a few days. Margriet fell asleep instantly, exhausted, but Lena lay awake, best and worst images running over and over again through her mind.
    Even with the theft of their bicycle and Father’s greed, the journey had been a success. Father had said that they would not turn in the remaining bicycle, but there would be no morehunger journeys for two—not unless they were prepared to walk.
    If there were to be more journeys, Margriet would just have to go on her own. That was all.
    Taking care not to wake her sister, Lena turned over in bed and allowed herself to drift off to sleep.

CHAPTER FIVE
    Lena twirled, her skirt flying out in a circle around her knees, her hair flying out in a circle around her head, the ball flying in a torrent of colour up, up, up to the wall and bouncing back to land in her raised hands just as she came around. Her hands snapped around the shining rubber, drew back and let the ball fly once again. Another spin and another. Dizzy and breathless, eight-year-old Lena caught the ball for a last time and collapsed on the big stone bench. She stroked the ball’s red and orange streaks as she caught her breath.
    Tap, tap, tap.
Knuckles sounded on glass.
    Lena’s head jerked up. Margriet glared at her through the kitchen window, her arm raised in a familiar gesture. Get in